


The Warlord's Tribute

by TheSopherfly



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Attempted Kidnapping, Clans, Developing Relationship, Historical Fantasy, M/M, Tributes, Warlord Bucky, inventor tony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-01 13:01:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17244677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSopherfly/pseuds/TheSopherfly
Summary: Warlord Bucky, rumored to be ruthless, ends up in the possession of Tony, who slowly learns that Bucky isn't so bad.





	1. The Tribute

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MassiveSpaceWren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MassiveSpaceWren/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The clan of Iron offers their tribute. 'Bloody Barnes' tries to refuse.

 

“You’re sure you’re okay with this?”

Tony looked up, Rhodes’s image appearing behind his own in the reflective glass. He flattened the fabric of his tunic with both hands, fingertips skimming briefly over the twine that held the front together. “Of course.”

“No one will be upset if you change your mind.”

Tony shook his head. “And what will we offer as tribute then? A goat?” What he meant as a joke still struck too close to home. The goats were dead, along with all the other beasts; the oxen, the sheep, the hens, they had all succumbed to the cold, and the crops had died along with them. A few hundred horses, kept in the stables further south, had survived, and they were too valuable to lose - besides which, any clan leader with any kind of power already had thousands of horses at his disposal. That kind of tribute would make a mockery of the whole ritual. The purpose was to give a warlord something he did not already possess. And Tony was sure that Barnes did not yet possess an inventor.

“We can ask to delay tribute-”

“And risk making him angry?” Tony finally turned, crossing his arms and meeting Rhodes’s eyes. “You’re the one who called him ruthless. If we delay tribute, do you think _Bloody Barnes_ will be forgiving?”

Rhodes pursed his lips. “Tony. I don’t want you to be unhappy. If you’re only making this choice for the good of the clan…” He trailed off, and Tony bristled at the concerned look on his face. The time for that, for caring about what Tony _wanted_ , had come and gone.

“We’re already on his doorstep,” Tony said. They had traveled so many miles to be here, to meet with Barnes in person and to give a worthy tribute. Tony wouldn’t risk the clan’s safety for his own personal comfort. He was the only one who could do this, and he would do it, whether he wanted to or not. “Don’t worry so much. I’ll be alright.” Even if he wasn’t, there was nothing either of them could do about it now. Barnes would do what Barnes would do, and Tony would survive. “So,” Tony said, returning his attention to his appearance. “How do I look?”

Rhodes sighed, then nodded his approval. “You’re the handsomest tribute I’ve ever seen.”

Tony spared one last glance at his reflection. Rhodes was right - not a hair out of place. Good. If his intelligence didn’t win the day, his looks just might. He took a deep breath to steel himself, then released it all at once, following Rhodes out into the corridor.

~

The procession began outside the walls of the fortress. They moved slowly in time, Strange leading the march, Tony in the middle, Rhodes and Vision following behind. Two armed guards pulled open the doors, which were taller than three men together, and likely just as heavy. Tony’s eyes adjusted slowly to the dim light of the room, and he glanced up at the cavernous ceiling, then down at the council before them.

Barnes was seated between two others on a platform several feet above the ground, with a large staircase leading up. He sat in what Tony recognized as a throne, even if Tony’s own clan had never had one. It was made of dark stone, slate, if Tony’s memory served. Slate was difficult to source. Having a throne made of slate was no doubt a show of power, albeit a subtle one. A normal man might only marvel at its color and texture; only a man of science would know its true value.

Barnes was not what Tony had expected. His energy was calm and quiet, menace hiding in lines of tension and stiffness visible through his clothing. Dark hair fell just past his jaw, and his eyes were lined with charcoal, the bright blue of his irises all the more striking in contrast to the sweeping circles of black. The sign of his clan, a pointed star inside a round shield, was drawn in yellow ochre on the right side of his face; on the left, a scar ran from just below his eye to the hollow of his cheekbone. The fur he wore was a rich, deep brown, and Tony recognized it as the skin of a wolf.

The overall effect was startling. Tony’s own clan had done away with traditional painted faces years ago, but he wished now that Strange had brought the practice back; with no sign of his clan, Tony felt especially bare.

The man on Barnes’s right wore the same yellow ochre with unpainted eyes, and animal skin instead of fur. The woman on his left wore the fur of a silver fox, and she stood as they approached. Clearly, she was Barnes’s Speaker.

“Clan of Iron,” the woman said. “The clan of the Winter Soldier welcomes you.”

“Thank you,” Strange replied, the response echoing around them. He waited for the sound to die down before he continued, using the ritual words. “We come seeking refuge and protection.”

“And we seek to protect,” the woman replied. Next came oaths of fealty, then offers of tribute. “Will you swear fealty and adopt the sign of our clan?”

Strange inclined his head. “We will.”

“What do you bring as tribute?”

Strange looked back over his shoulder, gesturing to Tony with one open hand. “We humbly offer you this man, Anthony Edward Stark.”

~

On hearing the man’s name, part of Bucky wanted to rescind his offer of protection and send the clan of Iron back the way they’d come. It had to be a trick; and even if it wasn’t, it put Bucky in the position of accepting what he did not want to accept. Never in his twenty years as clan leader had he seen a _man_ offered up as tribute.

Was this man supposed to be - what? A servant? A concubine? He was too fit to be a man of medicine, though there was intelligence behind his eyes. A man of science? A scholar? A studier of stars?

Bucky could have asked - but that would have implied acceptance, and Bucky hadn’t yet accepted. He didn’t plan to. Whatever use to him this man might have been, Bucky had no interest in a human tribute. He looked Anthony up and down, stiffness settling into his jaw. “I don’t want him.”

Anthony’s eyes narrowed, a look of defiance passing over his face. “What, am I not good enough for you?”

A deep scowl drove Bucky’s brows down, and not only because Anthony had spoken out of turn. “I don’t accept _people_ as tribute.” He shifted his gaze to their Speaker. “Choose another offering.”

The Speaker bent at the waist in a half bow, taking a careful step back. “I humbly ask you to reconsider.”

Bucky didn’t try to hide his annoyance. “Why?”

“He’s an inventor,” the Speaker said quickly. “An architect. He can make anything. He builds incredible weapons, things none of us have ever seen before.”

“If these weapons were as incredible as you claim, you wouldn’t be petitioning for aid,” Bucky dismissed.

“That’s not fair.” Anthony interrupted again, meeting Bucky’s eyes. “Weapons without a military force are useless. We need your help because we lack soldiers, not tools.”

“It seems _you_ also lack the ability to hold your tongue.” Bucky drummed his fingers once, considering. He could end the ritual now and reject the offering outright - but perhaps the clan of Iron had offered up this man in good faith. It was worth deliberation, at least. “I will first confer with my council,” Bucky said, looking at Steve, then Natasha. They followed suit when he stood, disappearing through the curtain behind them into the council alcove.

“Buck,” Steve said softly before Bucky had a chance to speak. “It’s all they have.”

“Is their land barren?”

“The early winter froze their harvest.”

“Livestock?”

“They don’t have any to spare.”

Bucky growled. “What about… I don’t know. Jewelry. Pottery. Weapons. Something other than _him._ ”

Steve shrugged his shoulders, and Bucky sighed. If that was true - if the clan of Iron had truly lost everything - then perhaps this offering was not a trick, but a last resort. The most worthy tribute they could find.

“You can still refuse,” Natasha said, obviously sensing his hesitation.

He shook his head, dismissing that idea. No. He couldn’t refuse. Despite his reputation, he never left a plea for help unanswered. The clan of Iron needed him, needed his armies to keep their city and their people from ruin. He was in no position to give anything away for free, either. That would have been a dangerous precedent. Unsustainable. According to tradition, an offer of protection required tribute.

Still, the idea of accepting a human trade made Bucky uneasy. He hadn’t freed his armies just to start enslaving skilled workers.

“Can we change the nature of the tribute?” Bucky asked, thinking as he spoke. “Agree to accept this man as a guest rather than a possession?”

“Yes,” Natasha said. “We can request as many conditions as you want.”

Bucky said a brief prayer of thankfulness for Natasha’s knowledge of custom and tradition. “We won’t need more than one.”

The three stepped back into the chamber, Natasha moving to the front of the platform. “We will agree to the clan of Iron’s terms,” she began, “if the clan of Iron will accept our one condition. This man, Anthony Stark, will not be considered a possession, but an honored guest of the clan of the Winter Soldier.” A pause, allowing the clan of Iron to consider. “Does the clan of Iron agree?”

The Speaker - Strange, Bucky recalled from their correspondence - looked to Anthony, who nodded, a small motion that Bucky might’ve missed had he not been looking.

“We agree,” Strange said. “And do you accept our tribute?”

Bucky looked down at Anthony, and Anthony met his gaze, unflinching. “I accept your tribute.”

  



	2. The Avenger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony learns more about Bloody Barnes. Bucky gives Tony a flower.

 

The rest of the ceremony passed in a blur, and Tony moved blindly through the motions, watching as Strange burned the symbolic offering, stiffening when the other clan’s female Speaker marked his face in charcoal. He was given the chance to say goodbye to his clan, and he kept his farewells brief, not wanting to dwell on the fate he had already accepted.

The Speaker led him to his quarters, and he followed her with leaden steps, his dread matched only by his curiosity as they made their way deeper into the fortress. He mapped the layout in his mind, finding himself fascinated by the sweeping arches and different types of stone. Where he had expected to see only utility, he instead saw beautiful design.

“Who built this place?” he couldn’t help but ask.

“An architect from the clan of the Black Panther,” the Speaker replied.

Of course. The clan of the Winter Soldier and the clan of the Black Panther had formed their alliance years ago. Tony wondered under what terms they had agreed. Perhaps their traded resources accounted for Barnes’s animal furs as well as his slate throne.

A few more winding corridors - Tony made plans to explore those later, provided he was allowed - and a flight of circular stairs, and they arrived outside a tall metal door, much like the ones that had swung open upon his arrival.

“These are your rooms,” the Speaker said, sliding the door open, and Tony realized that it was set on a track, with small wheels that allowed it to roll open and closed. That was a convention rarely used, and it somehow made him feel more at home despite the strange new surroundings.

Tony stepped inside, expecting the same kind of guest accommodations to which he was accustomed. Small room, small bed, clean linens and a decent view. What he found was… More. Too much to take in all at once. The bed had room enough for four men side by side, and there were furs atop it, more furs than Tony had ever seen together in one place. There were furs at the side of the bed, too, as if whoever had designed it had known how cold a stone floor could be in the middle of the night. There was a chest of drawers, beautifully carved with geometric designs on either side, a table for eating and entertaining guests; there was even a reflective glass that spanned the height of the room, framed in wrought metal.

Tony approached what appeared to be a window, only to discover that it was a movable glass door. It opened to reveal a balcony overlooking a garden. It was beautiful. Peaceful. He stepped back from the balcony and closed the door only to keep out the cold.

He didn’t understand. This was clearly a room for a visiting warlord. An inventor had no business staying in a room like this. “I… I can’t sleep here.”

“Do you need something bigger?”

“No, it’s - exactly the opposite. This is too much. It’s too big. I’m not - I’m just an inventor.”

“You’re our honored guest,” the Speaker said, as if that explained everything. “But if you’d like something else-”

“No. No, this is… this is fine.” Tony didn’t want to create even more trouble. If Barnes had chosen this room for him, he would take it. He didn’t have any energy left to argue. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. You’ll find garments in the drawers. There’s a basin of water on the table, and a private relief room across the hall. Steve will meet you in the morning to show you to the private baths. He’ll also give you a tour of the grounds.” The Speaker made her way slowly toward the door. “If there’s anything else you need, the call bell will summon someone to you.”

“Hang on,” Tony said, and she paused in the doorway. “What’s your name?”

“Natasha,” she replied, smiling gently.

“Natasha,” he repeated. “Nice to meet you.”

“And you.” She gave a polite nod, sliding the door shut behind her as she left.

Tony searched through the cabinet to find sleep clothes, then disrobed, slipping into the soft silk fabric. He wasn’t tired - how could he be? - but he laid down in the bed, covering himself in one of the large furs. He combed his fingers through the wiry strands, too preoccupied to notice their warmth, his mind consumed with thoughts of what the next day might bring.

~

Tony must have fallen asleep, because he awoke to the sound of knocking on his door. He scrambled to answer it, his bare feet meeting the furs, then the cold stone floor.

“Yes?”

“Anthony,” said the same tall, blond man who had been seated next to Barnes the day before. “My name is Steve Rogers. I’m here to give you a tour of the fortress.”

Tony had clothed himself quickly, taking time only to splash water on his face and adjust his hair in the reflective glass before following Rogers down the stone steps.

The tour had taken them first through the gardens, then from one side of the fortress to the other, beginning at the kitchens and the dining hall, then winding through the library, the war room, and the stables. Finally they arrived at the baths, where Rogers left Tony to his own devices. There were four large pools for communal bathing, three hot, one cold; beyond those were individual baths, smaller and more private. Tony had spent an hour in the hot water, finding more solace in the steam than he’d thought possible. He wondered where the water came from. Surely there must have been a hot spring nearby, though who had constructed the pumps that maintained the baths, Tony didn’t know. Perhaps this was more work by the clan of the Black Panther.

When his skin finally began to wrinkle, Tony climbed out of the bath, allowing the water to drip off of him before drying himself with one of the linens and slipping back into the trousers he’d retrieved earlier that morning from the chest of drawers. He had not quite made it to the tunic before someone appeared in the doorway, though the steam partially obstructed Tony’s view.

“Anthony?”

Tony recognized that voice. That was Barnes. Barnes had come looking for him. The earlier tension crept back into Tony’s shoulders, and he took a breath, trying to calm himself. Nothing about his treatment so far suggested that Barnes meant him any harm. He was a guest. Barnes’s guest. Any threat he perceived was, at least for the moment, only imagined.

“Yes?” Tony tugged on his tunic as Barnes approached, covering his still damp skin.

“If you’re finished here, I was hoping to show you the workshop myself.”

The workshop. With his attention arrested by the tour and the baths, he had forgotten about his _work_.

“Right.” Of course, there was no reason that Barnes had to show him the workshop. He was perfectly capable of finding it on his own. Even if Rogers’ tour hadn’t taken him through it, he’d memorized the layout of the fortress. He knew exactly where it was. What purpose did it serve, having Barnes take him there? “Why?” he asked, unable to keep the question from passing his lips. Was it prudent, asking Bloody Barnes for a _reason_? Still, Tony reminded himself, he hadn’t seen anything from Barnes that made him believe he was in any danger.

“It’s one of my favorite places,” Barnes replied.

Interesting, that a warlord would enjoy an inventor’s workshop. Even more interesting that Barnes would call it his favorite place.

“Alright,” Tony conceded, tugging his borrowed fur over his shoulders. “I’m ready.”

~

They walked to the workshop in silence, Tony observing Barnes, watching his gait. He saw power in Barnes’s stride, and he had no doubt that Barnes was just as fierce a warrior as the men that made up his armies. Still, there was something unassuming about him. Whatever strength he possessed, he didn’t make a show of it.

“This is your workspace,” Barnes said finally, opening up the door at the end of the long hall. “If there’s anything else you need, let me know and I’ll see to it personally.”

Tony peered down the length of the room. There were tables, tools, fires and stoves, stacks and stacks of raw materials. It was enough for fifty working men, and it was all for him. He couldn’t believe Barnes had been so generous. “Is there anything specific you want me to make?” Tony asked, restraining himself enough not to play with the gripping tool sitting on the table closest to him before asking exactly what Barnes expected.

“Whatever you want. You’re the inventor. I trust your judgment.”

Tony wondered for a moment if he was dreaming. Bloody Barnes trusted his judgment. Wanted him to make whatever he wanted. Had given him every resource he could imagine. Tony’s head spun just thinking of the possibilities. “What if the thing I want to make is too big for me to build myself?”

Barnes raised his eyebrows, and the expression on his face very closely resembled a smile. Something about that made Tony feel warm.

“Tell me how many men you’ll need,” Barnes said, “and you’ll have them.”

Tony rested his hands on the table, palms open, fingers drumming in anticipation. “And if I need anything else?”

“Come directly to me. Things will move faster for you that way.” Barnes made to leave, and Tony stopped him.

“Wait.” Tony licked his lips, scrutinizing Barnes more closely. “If I’m asking you for materials, I need to know how to ask. You already know my name - but what do I call you?”

Barnes looked surprised, then thoughtful. “James,” he said finally.

“Not Barnes?”

“I call you by your first name. It’s only fair that you call me by mine.”

 _James._ Tony turned the word over and over in his mind, stretching it, weighing it. It didn’t fit the man he’d seen on the slate throne, so dark and serious. But for the man he’d seen a moment ago, the one who had just barely smiled, Tony was forced to admit that the name fit remarkably well. Did that mean there was more to the man, more than the rumors and tall tales could’ve possibly told? Maybe. Maybe not. Either way, Tony knew where he could find out.

~

“Anthony.” Natasha smiled, closing her book as Tony took the seat in front of her. Tony had known to find her in the library, in one of the chairs beside the fire. The flames crackled, and heat radiated, warming the side of Tony’s face, heating his chilled fingers.

“Natasha.” He leaned forward, folding his arms over his knees. “What can you tell me about Barnes?”

Natasha looked amused by the question. “That depends. What do you want to know?”

Tony had come prepared. The best way to understand a leader was to understand why his people followed him. “His armies. All of his people. Why do they support him?”

“He gives them food, clothing, shelter,” Natasha said. “But of course, those are all obvious.” She narrowed her eyes, as if deciding whether or not to tell Tony more. “The men in his armies used to be slaves. He set them free.”

“And they still choose to follow him?”

“They do. Another warlord might have kept them in slavery. Sold them to another clan. Barnes put their freedom above everything else, and in return, he became the most powerful warlord in the middle kingdom.”

“So where did he get the name Bloody Barnes?”

Natasha leaned in closer, as if she was about to tell a secret. “Ten years ago, a warlord named Pierce wanted to bring Barnes to kneel. So he targeted the families of Barnes’s men. Threatened them, trying to force Barnes’s men to change loyalties. A few of them did - but most didn’t. Barnes smuggled the families to safety. Hid them. Protected them. And where he couldn’t protect them, he avenged them.”

Tony blinked, terrible images passing behind his eyes as his imagination conjured up Barnes’s history. “How did he avenge them?”

Natasha hesitated a moment. “He burned their crops. Poisoned their water. Then one night, he marched his biggest battalion onto their land and massacred them all.”

Tony knew enough from his exploration of the fortress to understand how enormous a force that would have been. And these weren’t Barnes’s slaves. They fought for him willingly. Many of them came from the clan of the Jotunn, who fought for sport. It was even rumored that they possessed some sort of magic that they used against their enemies in battle. They were as cunning as they were unstoppable.

“They say the ground is still red from their blood,” Natasha continued.

Thus the name Bloody Barnes. Tony frowned. The rumors had only been half true; Barnes might have been a killer, but he wasn’t a killer without motive. He didn’t murder men just to see them bleed. His massacre was driven by revenge. Retribution. He had attacked another clan out of loyalty for his own. It was, in a strange, cruel way, a form of justice.

“You said this was ten years ago?” Tony asked, not unimpressed by the longevity of Barnes’s brutal reputation.

“It’s not something a clan forgets. No one has dared to cross Barnes since.”

“Not even the clan of the Hydra?”

The clan of Iron had had no end of trouble with Hydra. If the cold hadn’t forced the clan of Iron to seek aid, the threats from Hydra would have brought them to Barnes’s door.

“They show up every once in a while. Don’t know what’s good for them. Barnes always removes them from our land as quickly as they come.”

Tony wondered if Barnes maintained his reputation - or rather, did nothing to dispute it - for the safety of his clan. It hardly hurt for Hydra to believe in his swift and terrible vengeance, whether he planned to exact it or not.

“Thank you,” Tony said to Natasha. “That… helps me understand. He makes more sense now.”

“Good,” Natasha said. She opened her book and returned to her reading. Tony leaned back in his chair thoughtfully, staring into the fire, then took his leave, finding that Barnes’s name - _James_ \- was still tumbling around in his head.

~

It took a few days for Tony to gather enough courage to confront Barnes in person. He waited until he saw Barnes - James - in the garden, then snuck down the stone steps to join Barnes near the most colorful flowers.

“Do you know people call you Bloody Barnes?” Tony asked with no preamble.

Barnes, who had obviously noticed his presence some minutes ago, made an affirmative sound. “Yes. I do.”

There was nothing more. No argument to defend himself. No reassurance that he wasn’t the barbarian he’d been made out to be. Tony allowed silence to settle around them, following Barnes’s lead and reaching out every so often to touch one of the flowers.

“I don’t think that’s fair,” Tony said finally. “You’re not a murderer.” He paused, lowering his head to smell one of the flowers. That was an oversimplification, and not entirely true. “Well. You are. But you’re an avenger, too.”

“An avenger.” It wasn’t a question, but it somehow still demanded an answer.

“Yes. That’s what they should call you. The Avenger. It suits you better.” He glanced over at Barnes and saw a true smile this time. It looked good. Tony found himself wishing he could make Barnes smile more. “I’ll need twenty men,” he added.

Barnes turned toward him, brow furrowed in confusion.

“For what I’m building,” Tony explained. “I’ll need twenty men starting tomorrow.”

“Then you’ll have them,” Barnes said in easy agreement. Then, after a beat, “You might consider sleeping in your chambers, as opposed to the workshop.”

So. Someone had been telling Barnes tales of Tony’s bad habits. Or maybe Barnes had witnessed them himself. Tony had already fallen asleep in the workshop more than once.

“I’ll be alright.” Then, at the disapproval in Barnes’s expression, “But if it means so much to you, I promise I’ll return to my room for a few hours tonight.”

That seemed to pacify Barnes. He inclined his head, then reached out, plucking a flower from the bush and handing it to Tony. Surprised and bewildered, Tony took it, feeling the petals between his fingers. He tilted the flower up to his nose, closing his eyes and breathing deep. When he opened his eyes, Barnes had disappeared, probably moving deeper into the garden. Tony smiled a little to himself, carrying the flower up to his chambers before resuming his work.

 

 


	3. The Clan of the Hydra

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The clan of the Hydra pays a visit. Tony and Bucky share a kiss.

 

If Bucky had known that it was _Hydra_ insisting on an audience, he would have refused to appear. As it was, he considered rising from the throne and leaving. If only he hadn’t been so chained to following tradition. One of his greatest flaws.

The men that appeared before him were familiar. He’d argued with them, fought with them, so many times that he knew them all by name. Rumlow. Hale. Talbot. Ward. They were faces he had hoped never to see again.

“You can’t possibly be seeking protection,” Bucky said. “What do you want?”

Rumlow smiled, a twisted kind of smile that made Bucky want to grab onto his tunic and drag him outside. “We want the Inventor. The man from the clan of Iron. Anthony Stark.”

Well. Hydra had gotten wind of their agreement with the clan of Iron. Word traveled fast between clans, but most clans in the middle kingdom had made a pact not to fraternize with the clan of the Hydra. Where had they gotten their information?

Bucky calculated his response carefully. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“We know he’s here. We know you have him.”

He kept his expression carefully blank, his voice neutral. “I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong place,” he said, not giving up his pretense. He stood, signaling the end of the audience. “Natasha. Please see that our guests find their way off of our land.”

With the help of three guards, Natasha escorted Rumlow out of the room, the others trailing behind.

“They’ll be back,” Steve said.

“And we’ll be ready for them,” Bucky replied, already thinking through protective measures. “Add guards to the perimeter. The entrances and exits, too.”

“Of course.” Steve made his way down the steps two at a time, not looking back.

“What about Anthony?” Natasha asked from the doorway, passing Steve as she stepped back inside. “Should he be warned?”

Bucky nodded. “I’ll speak with him myself.”

~

“Anthony?” Bucky called, knocking gently on Anthony’s door.

“Come in,” Anthony replied.

Bucky slid the door open and stepped inside. Anthony was seated at the table, two large texts and a scroll spread out in front of him. He stared at the parchment with singular focus, his eyes shifting from one item to the next with surprising ease. From what Bucky could see, he wore nothing but a silk robe; the dark color was beautiful against his skin, and Bucky couldn’t help but imagine what might be underneath. He tried to push the image from his mind. That small interaction in the garden wasn’t enough to prove that Anthony shared his feelings. And even if he did, Bucky was here to discuss Hydra, not his growing affection for his resident inventor.

Anthony looked up from his reading. “Is everything alright?”

“The clan of the Hydra wants you,” he said bluntly. “I believe they intend to take you by force. I’ve ordered protective measures, but I thought it would be wise to warn you.”

“Hydra came here?”

Bucky sighed. “They’re in the habit of making meaningless threats every few months. My newer guards didn’t recognize them well enough to keep them out. And unfortunately, this threat carries weight.”

Anthony bit his lip, his expression serious. “What did you tell them?”

“I told them you weren’t here.”

That lightened Anthony’s expression some. “They didn’t believe you, did they?”

“No, they didn’t. But it was worth the attempt.” Bucky paused, noticing the flower on the table for the first time. Its stem sat in a small vase of water, and its petals had spread out, continuing to bloom even though it had been plucked from the bush. Bucky reached out, brushing one of the petals with his knuckle. “This is beautiful.”

“I know,” Anthony said, looking at it fondly. “And you should, too. You’re the one who picked it.”

“You’re the one who kept it.” Bucky smiled. Perhaps Anthony did return his affection after all. He opened his mouth to speak again, then stopped when he heard a noise on the balcony.

“What was that?”

Bucky clenched his jaw. The hairs on his neck stood on end, and anger threatened to boil over. “Our friends from the clan of the Hydra.”

Anthony stared at him, incredulous, then jumped up at the sound of glass shattering.

“Get down,” Bucky ordered. _“Now._ ”

Anthony blinked, frozen for a few impossibly slow seconds, then did as he was told, ducking underneath the table. Bucky had just enough time to turn before an arrow sailed toward his head. He jerked back, and the arrow missed, lodging itself in the stone wall behind him. Another arrow, this one aimed at his chest. He dropped down into a crouch and rolled, then sprung up and charged forward, pinning their attacker to the wall.

It was Rumlow. Of course it was Rumlow.

“How the hell did you get in here?” Bucky demanded.

“Your men aren’t all as loyal as you think they are,” Rumlow growled through gritted teeth.

Bucky snatched the bow out of Rumlow’s grasp, snapping it in half with one hand. That was one advantage he knew he had - Hydra always carried lightweight weapons.

Hydra also always carried multiple weapons, and Bucky moved aside just before Rumlow slashed at him with a knife. Bucky dodged a second jab, then a third, moving around the room in some kind of dance, then managed to grab Rumlow’s wrist, twisting it back and relieving Rumlow of the weapon. It clattered loudly on the stone floor, and before Rumlow could gain another advantage, Bucky caught Rumlow from behind, his arms tight around Rumlow’s neck. Rumlow struggled, then went limp in Bucky’s arms.

Bucky released his grip, allowing the body to fall to the floor. Not dead. Just unconscious. Bucky found a bit of spare rope in the chest of drawers - a safety measure in case of a fire - and tied Rumlow’s arms together behind his back.

“There,” Bucky said, finally returning his attention to Anthony, who stood there looking stunned. “Are you alright?”

Anthony stared, eyes wide, chest rising and falling too fast. “You could’ve just let them have me.”

“No,” Bucky said, pulling himself to his feet. “I couldn’t have.”

“Why not?”

Bucky approached Anthony slowly, eyes sweeping, searching for injuries. Of course there were none, but that didn't stop him from imagining what could have happened if he hadn't made it to Anthony in time.

“We don’t trade lives,” Bucky said, reaching out to hold Anthony’s face in his hands. He wasn’t sure what made him so bold - maybe the intensity of the fight - but Anthony didn’t pull away. “You’re valuable here. Especially to me.”

Before he could think better of it, before he could be afraid that Anthony might reject him, Bucky leaned down and sealed their lips together in a kiss. Anthony didn’t pull away. He stayed put, and when Bucky finally drew back for air, Anthony smiled, one corner of his mouth curving up.

“They may still call you Bloody Barnes, but really, you’re not so bad.”

“I hope you’ll keep that to yourself,” Bucky said, his fingers still teasing at the ends of Tony’s hair. “I did earn that name, once upon a time. It’s safer if everyone still believes I’m as cruel as I’ve always been.”

Anthony nodded, leaning into the touch. “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.” He tilted his head up, seeking another kiss, and Bucky obliged, happy to forget the world and fall helplessly into the embrace.

~

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! For those of you still on tumblr, you can find me [here](https://sopherfly.tumblr.com/). :)


End file.
